


Auribus teneo lupum

by citizenofdoubt



Category: Charlotte Holmes Series - Brittany Cavallaro
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Oxford, pre-a question of holmes, spoilers for The Case for Jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-07 22:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citizenofdoubt/pseuds/citizenofdoubt
Summary: Charlotte and Jamie are attending Oxford's summer program together, and this time they have no Moriartys to distract them from trying to solve an entirely different kind of problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: these characters belong to Brittany Cavallaro! Also English is not my native language and I know nothing about how British universities work.  
> So two weeks ago I discovered this series and was so enchanted by the characters and writing that it inspired me to try to write after, like, a decade. (Also there are criminally few fics for this fandom).  
> I read the synopsis for A question of holmes and decided to take on that as a test. For that same reason I wrote everything in Charlotte's voice - not sure I pulled that off!  
> So in about three days this won't be canon anymore, but I don't really mind.  
> I should also say that for some reason it had stuck in my mind that Charlotte was pursuing a degree in Chemistry, so just go along with that I guess. heh.  
> Not really sure where this is going so far, but not long probably.  
> 

I suppose there was some kind of irony to be found in me choosing chemistry as a field of study, given past circumstances in my life. Opioid addiction, poisoned mother, et cetera. Not to mention the very surprising (and honestly, unsettling) fact that I, from all things, would be following my mother’s career. But then again, I could argue that from the both of us, I was the one with Holmes blood, after all. As one know, few fields of study could be more appropriate for a so-called ‘typical Holmes’ like myself (and whether this particular label still applies is irrelevant). Consequently, she may have chosen it first, but still I felt more entitled to it than her. At least that’s what I told Watson, when he annoyingly brought this up in the middle of one of my experiments.

“You know”, he said as I was turning on the heat on the Bunsen burner, “I always thought that if you were to continue the family business, it would be from your father’s side.” When I made no sign of acknowledging him, he continued, “Never pictured you following your mother’s steps.”

I snorted. “In what world exactly am I following my mother’s steps?”

“You know. Chemistry.”

I took my eyes from the beaker and shot him an annoyed look. “Please. I am not studying chemistry because of my mother, and you surely know it. I don’t exactly intend to finish college and go work for a pharmaceutical company. If I have, indeed, been influenced by any of my relatives, it would certainly be the most famous. Sherlock was the world’s best expert in a great deal of chemical substances, as I’m sure you are aware. I also firmly believe that this fact alone grants me the biggest claim on the matter, since my mother is not really a Holmes.”

“I see”, he continued, “So you’re saying that your mother should have known she would marry a Holmes, anticipate having a prickly daughter who would want to study poisons and stuff, and then decided to change careers because of it?” Watson had a tone which he intended to sound like disbelief, but that was actually amusement.

“Well, wasn’t it for the fact that she would not have met my father had she chosen another profession, that would actually have been great.” I paused. “On second thought, perhaps that is precisely why this idea would have been optimal”. He laughed, but chose to ignore that last sentence.

“Ok, so let me get this straight”, he continued. “You would rather create a paradox and maybe rip the space-time continuum than have something in common with your mother. Yeah, sounds about right.” I rolled my eyes. “Not that you’re wrong or anything. I have met her, after all”. I shot him an amused look and tried to suppress a smile.

“Anyway”, he followed, “I don’t really think you’re following anyone’s steps.” I gave him an exasperated look that intended to say ‘why are you importuning me, then?’ (despite absolutely knowing why), and raised my eyebrow, intrigued. He shrugged. “You’re too much of your own person for that”.

“So you do get something right every once in a while, it turns out ”, I said, teasing. He smiled. He knew I didn’t really mean it.

I couldn’t actually mean it, because Watson really did get things right, at least when it came to me. In true ‘Watson’ fashion, he missed the most obvious things and what he did get right usually had no logic or factual train of thought preceding it. I suppose one would say he knew these things with his heart, however absurd this idea. But still, he had been surprisingly and increasingly accurate in reading how I felt, what I meant and why I meant it. In reading me, in summary. It made me feel kind of exposed, sometimes. It also made me feel comforted, and understood, and something I could not quite define. I was sure that this must be a good thing. Isn’t that what you should expect from a best friend?

“But anyway”, he continued, “why did you choose chemistry, after all? How did that happen?”

“Huh.” I stopped taking experiment notes. “I suppose I never really considered it that way, as a choice. I guess it always just seemed like the obvious option. Like the best move in a chess game.”

He looked a little admired.

“A chess game”, he repeated. “There is really no one like you, do you know that?” I kept my eyes fixed on the calculations on my notebook and suppressed a smile that, for once, I knew he noticed. “But it suits you, I think. Plus, I can’t really imagine another way for you to be doing independent studies in blowing stuff up--”, he said, and as on cue, the liquid in the beaker overheated, the glass cracked and burst, and it spilled all over the table and my clothes. Watson jumped.

“Holmes! --What the hell was in that thing--”

“Calm down, Watson, it is nothing dangerous. At least not in this concentration”, I said, rushing to take my notes out of harm’s way, annoyed that I had been distracted and at the same time amused at his exasperation.

“This concentration”, he groaned, coming across the table. It was kind of hilarious seeing his expression. I would have giggled, if I ever did such a thing. “I’ve told you to wear a proper coat-- I’ll probably have to get me one myself, if I don’t want to get acid all over me eventually--”

“Please, I don’t even used acids most of the time”, I interrupted, to the predicted effect of annoying him further, and stood up to take my jacket off. It was getting an odd color in the spots the solution had spilled.

“Here”, he said, coming closer and reaching for my arm. “Let me help you so you don’t touch this weird shit--” And then he stopped, and I stopped, and the world may as well have stopped, because the last time we had been this close, I was suddenly aware, was in a room in a safehouse after Watson had nearly beat Lucien Moriarty to death. I watched as the same thoughts crossed his mind. He made a sound between a cough and a grunt, still frozen in the spot.

“Thanks”, I finally said, quietly, and offered my sleeve like it was a white flag. He helped me pull the jacket off and we stared at each other for a moment.

“I suppose now you need help cleaning this mess”, he said with a nervous voice, trying, and failing, to sound annoyed.

“No shit, Sherlock”, I said in what I hoped was a soft tone.

Watson laughed and seemed to relax.

“Oh, that’s grand, coming from the world’s greatest chemist”, he teased, smiling. I smiled too. Then we were cleaning, and talking, and everything was easy again.

Except as I knew, watching him pick up the glass I’d shattered, it wasn’t. Not really.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An art exhibit brings some interesting thoughts for Charlotte.

Watson had come with me to attend a summer course in Oxford, and I knew we were both anxious to, in a way, start over – to continue to rebuild our friendship (relationship?), from the ashes to which it had spectacularly burned in that snowy field on Sussex. We’d had a somewhat tentative and way too brief reset in the middle of the Moriarty confrontation, which was in turn suddenly interrupted by a bullet in my shoulder and a school year for him to finish.

This time, however, everything promised to be easier -- no one framing us for murder, no missing relatives, no target on our backs. No crime solving. A blank page, no blood spatter on it whatsoever, in which to figure out what we would be to each other. It should be easier. Anyone would say it should be easier.

I was, however, surprisingly nervous about this peaceful prospect. We are Holmes and Watson, for heaven’s sake – how can ‘no crime solving’ equal better? What if, I wondered, we suddenly realized that minus the adrenaline and thrill of the chase, there was nothing left for us to hang on to? What if there was nothing left for him? Really, in the only period since we met in which he’d had reasonable tranquility, we had been apart. For one long year. I am not one for fake modesty, so I’ll be the first to stress my value in situations like the ones we had consistently found ourselves in. But the same qualities that make me indispensable companion when a Moriarty is trying to kill you might, as I knew, make me quite difficult to be around in easier times... even if I thought I had softened some of these rough edges over the last year or so. The result of these contemplations was that a single question had tormented me endlessly: what could Watson possibly find in my company, now, that he couldn’t in anyone else? In anyone normal?

And yet, here he still was, after three ordinarily calm and – dare I say – happy weeks in the Oxford summer. Here, by my side, content in watching me ‘blow stuff up’ and patiently listen to my latest interesting read in the Encyclopedia Britannica, with nothing more than a snarky remark or two as a complaint. Apparently, everything was fine. But he too - I could see from the occasional wrinkle in his forehead when he thought I wasn’t looking - had been facing some doubts of his own which I would be willing to bet were not unlike mine.

Unsurprisingly, given our history, we had managed to avoid any serious discussions on these matters so far, while also maintaining a safe and somewhat calculated physical distance. This time, however, this reticence felt different. It felt less like being afraid of the subject or what it would cause on the other, and more like simply taking our own time. ‘Fits and starts’ was how Watson had described our pattern in his accounts. It had not really worked well so far. So we had been letting things proceed in their own pace, for once. Watson did not push anything, not once, and I was immensely grateful for that. He also had done some maturing of his own, I believed.

If I were Watson, and had therefore his tendency to romanticize everyone and everything - especially if this thing was accompanied by a Holmes surname - I suppose I could compare these last weeks to the work of an artist reproducing a painting. I feel entitled to first explain how it came to be that Charlotte Holmes was inventing awful metaphors involving art, relationships, and really, patently obvious and devastating irony, considering the part art reproductions had had in this whole mess in the first place. But I digress – here are the facts.

Watson and I went to an art exhibit on campus showing works the students had produced in the last semester. A particular painting caught his attention. It showed a boy and a girl, sitting in a cave, darkness all around them. Outside the cave, nothing but the whitest snow (always snow – Watson must really hate winter by now). For anyone who’ve been near us in these few years, this idyllic scenario might ring a bell.

I figure a thousand alarms went off in his head. As he observed it, I watched his face change. I followed the trail of his gaze. And thus I read the train of his thoughts. It is possible, I admit, that I ‘projected’ it (and am I actually using psychology terms now, in my own internal monologue? Watson ruined me). After all, I am not actually Sherlock Holmes. And if proven right, I am positive this exhibit would convince Watson that I can, in fact, read minds. But honestly, the whole business just sounds really straightforward to me.

Watson was looking at me, smiling, when he turned to the painting, and startled. He stole a quick glance to me, and focused back on the cavern, frowning. Then his eyes went to my boots and the scars in his hands, and alas -- a frown, a working jaw, a tense posture. He noticed his own clenched fists and let his eyes linger on our hands, side by side, almost touching, a sudden heat in his cheeks. He finally searched my eyes, just as I watched his darken.

The thing is, I had been thinking about our time together here in Oxford just then. So as I watched our whole history flash before his eyes, I saw the parallels on my own mind. This is how this ridiculously convoluted idea went. Our whole relationship as an original painting, perhaps not unlike the one in front of us. These last few weeks, then, a reproduction of that original. Some deviations expected, of course. For instance, no need for all the betrayal and tragedy.

The first thing in this supposed ‘reproduction’ would be the white background, us becoming comfortable around each other again after months not seeing each other. Then, might appear definite shapes and patterns, a boy, a girl - the easy friendship we’d had before Watson fell ill with an ‘incurable’ virus – before I first kissed him (this whole thing is my fault, really). This we’d had for our first few weeks here, until the day in the laboratory. Next would come the dark tones of that cavern, of everything that had made it all so incredibly complicated –secrets, a kiss in a fake hospital, misunderstandings, blackmail, distrust, a terribly stupid plan, a lost friend… only now, it had been merely broken glassware and a stained jacket. And then…

And then I looked at him, staring at me with those dark eyes, a single wrinkle in his forehead that I knew only I could put there, and in that moment I decided -- auribus teneo lupum, perhaps it was time for us to get out of this prison, even if it might end badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a whole chapter of Charlotte's internal monologue. Not sure how it came to be.  
> Hope it wasn't all too dramatic.
> 
> A side for die-hard Sherlock Holmes canon fans like me: in this chapter I tried (not very successfully) to channel one of my favorite ever exchanges from Holmes and Watson: the opening of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box. If you've read, I hope I did a decent enough job that you at least know what I'm talking about? If not, go read it!  
> Interesting fact: this story was removed shortly after publication due to its controversial subject. However, that passage is so brilliant that Conan Doyle then 'copy and pasted' it in "The Adventure of the Resident Patient".


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte and Jamie make a decision.

“Watson…”, I said, with a regrettably faltered voice. He had an indescribable look in his eyes, and I stopped.

“Holmes”, he said softly. He still looked at me. I reached out to his hand, on impulse. He startled at it, as if stroke by lightning, and then met my eyes again.

“I think—I was wondering, I mean, if maybe –“. How can a Watson make a Holmes without words, honestly? We are an anomaly of nature, I’m sure of it.

But still he waited with that nervous expressions in his eyes, and I blurted it out.

“Do you think we are ready to discuss it?”

He did not seem surprised. He seemed relieved, and hopeful, and a bit terrified, like me.

“I think we are”, he said, with a certainty I myself did not have. “I mean, if you are asking. And I am glad you are.” I was still nervous, but I smiled. Then that frown in his forehead. “Do you, though?”

“I think… _auribus teneo lupum_.”

He blinked. “What?”

I let out a frustrated sigh.

“You really need to work on your latin, Watson, if you’re going to be around me”. He rolled his eyes. “It’s an expression from a roman play. Literally, it means ‘to hold a wolf by its ears’, although to us, it would be equivalent to ‘hold a tiger by its tail’. The original line went-- ‘ _Auribus teneo lupum, nam neque quomodo a me amittam invenio neque uti retineam scio_ ’. ‘I've got a wolf by the ears; for I neither know how to get rid of her, nor yet how to keep her.’. Do you follow?”

“Huh. Not sure. Please do enlighten me”, he said, a little playfulness in his voice. It was my time to roll my eyes.

“It refers to an impossible situation. Unsustainable. In which either doing something to solve the problem or doing nothing at all are equally risky”.

“So you mean…”

“I mean that I think we’ve reached that. This whole situation is becoming unsustainable, and if the risks are equal, I’d much rather do something than do nothing.”

He raised his eyebrows and laughed softly.

“Yeah, I know you do. At all times. I should probably write that on my own ‘Holmes manual’. Number 1. Will always choose to take action, if given the possibility. Number 2. If not given the possibility, will create it. Number 3. Will wear black in all occasions possible. Number 4….”

I decided it would be best to stop this nonsense right there.

“Watson, I forbid you from writing such a thing. The existence of one of these lists is bad enough”. He still had that side grin. I really wished I didn’t like it so much. “And you didn’t answer my point.”

“Well”, he said, “I concede about the list, but only because I agree that the previous one was kind of bizarre.” His smile faltered then. “And I understand your latin, now, and… I think you’re right. I think it actually summarizes the situation pretty well. And I am not exactly a man of patience myself. So that’s  settled, then – we’re discussing it. What’s not settled is how on earth you find these absurdly specific latin proverbs.”

“I read, Watson. So. Do you wish to go somewhere more private?” A crooked smile started to form in his lips, again. “Please don’t say ‘Oh’”, I added quickly. A repetition of a previous conversation would be too much just now.

“I won’t”, he said, laughing. “And yes, I do. The lab?”

“I had a different idea in mind.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally got my copy of AQOH, and since I wanted to finish writing this before I read it... what better incentive, right? So I pretty much sat and wrote all the rest in one day.   
> The problem is, because of this it became difficult to divide it in chapters, that's why this is such a short one (and why the last one is basically double the size of the others).  
> Also I wasn't going to explain the title in the text, that's why I left a note with a link about it, but then I thought I might as well!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk.

I led him to a bench in a somewhat removed area of the campus. We had discovered this spot in the first week in Oxford. I enjoyed how quiet and empty it was, and Watson enjoyed to be outside around a natural scenery so distinctly British.

“Good thought”, he said as we sat.

I fell silent, and he cleared his throat. “So…”

“So.”

It suddenly seemed extremely difficult to continue with my intended purposes. I am not sure if it was the very fact that we were alone, or if it was due to the fact that as we'd walked here, silently, there had been enough time for me to go through everything in my head -- everything that had happened, every single mistake I’d made. The fact of the matter was that, as I looked at him, I didn’t feel quite like myself anymore. I had slowly felt all my confidence being stripped away from me to finally arrive at what I assumed was not exactly the right frame of mind for the conversation we were about to have. Was this really a good idea? Was I setting myself up for another disaster?

Watson was waiting, but as I opened and closed my mouth with not a word coming out of it, he came to my rescue.

“Holmes, I… I feel like perhaps you should take the lead on this one. Don’t get me wrong”, he added, from what he caught on my expression, I assume, “It’s not like I am putting the responsibility on you. It is just that… Truth be told, all I want to know is that you’re ready. For whatever it is you want from me. I’ve always felt like I was, from the very start, even before I actually was. Even before I knew _what_ I was ready for. With you however, I wonder if it’s the opposite – if you’ve perhaps been ready before you are willing to admit it. But I am okay with that, I want you to know. I suppose I just – I just need to hear what you have to say”.

So much for the supposed rescue. I let out a sigh.

“I am sorry, Watson. I know I was the one who touched on the subject. And I am not backing out, I swear, I am only… I am trying.”

“I know”, he said,  softly.

“I do have some things I want to say, but you managed to confuse me even with those vague words. How can you _possibly_ be just waiting to know that _I_ am ready for something? What about you? I know we have before discussed forgiveness for some of the worst things I’ve done, but after that we also… you said it was worse. Right before the incident in the tunnels with Moriarty, you said that me spying on you was actually worse than me… ' _re_ _inchenbaching'_  ". I said it with a distinct tone in the last word. Watson raised an eyebrow. He knew I was trying to easy the mood.

“And lest we not forget”, I continued, “it was also you who said that we are bad for each other and proceeded to say your goodbyes in the hospital. And then the next time we met, it wasn’t like this at all. So I don’t understand how it is all clear on your part. You must still want something from me as a sort of prerequisite – some apology, or explanation. How could you possibly not, Jamie?”

His eyes were soft.

“Because you already gave it to me”, he said. “I was just too stubborn to notice. You explained it all to me in the safehouse. All that you went through for all of your life. How it was impossible for you to be who I wanted you to be when we first met. And at the moment, I accepted it all. But I don’t think I really understood it just then. And when everything went down… you have to understand that I wasn’t on my right mind that day in the tunnels. It had been, by far, the worst day of my life, and from some other perspective, it had been the best, because I suddenly had you back. I was terrified, and angry, but also ecstatic and hopeful. And then I was so shocked when I found out _Elizabeth_ was your source. At the moment, it felt like some tremendous betrayal, because I was so sick of betrayals, and because I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it. But I was overreacting, and you knew right then that I was overreacting, so how can you think I still hold it against you? I don’t. It took me all of ten minutes to see how much of that reaction was just my hurt pride. Just me being a stupid teenage boy. But by then, it was already too late.”

He paused, as if to take a breath. I did not know what I expected for when we touched on this subject, but I certainly did not expect this easy resolution for the whole Elizabeth business.

“All right”, I said, “What you said makes sense, regarding this point. I suppose in other circumstances I would have realized that you had not been hurt for long about that. But let’s say that that day this wouldn’t be high in my list of priorities.” He snorted. “Fine, then. But what about the hospital? Although you quite readily backtracked on your words, I need to know what you were thinking, and why. And honestly, I’m starting to worry I may be losing the capacity of applying my skills to reading you, when it comes to this subject. So just tell me.”

“Okay, if you want to, I will. But you must bear with me a little, all right? ‘Cause this is kind of a long story”. I nodded, but I was already regretting having asked it, for was about to come next certainly had nothing of easy to it, judging from his expression.

“I had already realized”, he continued, “during that year apart, how our family background and my childhood fantasies had affected the way I saw you. There had been so many lenses that I had put before my eyes that I came to realize I hadn’t seen you at all, the real you. But this realization, then, had come in a negative tone, with so much anger. At the time I thought you were just a bad person, and that my admiration had prevented me from seeing it. I thought you had kept me around while I had some use for you and  your convoluted plans of revenge, and then ditched me when I wouldn’t serve your purposes – which is, when I wouldn’t take the fall for you. And still, I couldn’t help but miss you, and I hated myself for it. That’s why I think I felt so distant from myself all that time. I thought that if you were bad, and I knew and still cared about you, I must have been bad too.”

Would it be too much to ask for me to be wrong, just once? Not easy at all, indeed. I won’t pretend listening to this didn’t hurt, even if I sensed that perhaps all these beliefs didn’t still hold place in his heart.

In other times, this confession would have led me to some extreme action. I would storm out, or say some horrible thing that I could never take back, or if I had my violin, I might take it right then and there and start playing something so loud and angry that it would drive him away. Or, perhaps, what I would do was something that I couldn’t even conceive, at this point. Perhaps I couldn’t even figure out what that other self would do. Because despite the way this conversation was affecting me, I did not want to get out, at all. I wanted to go through.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out there's quite a lot to talk about.

All this conflict must have showed, however, because although Watson had only paused for a moment, he seemed suddenly despaired and was already rushing to continue. I didn’t let him.

“Charlotte –“

“Do you still think that?” I asked, my voice cracking a bit. I needed to know this, more than anything.

“What? No, of course not, do you not know that?” I wore my best blank face. “Of course not, Holmes. I have already told you this, haven’t I? Look, I warned you I am only telling you all of this so that you understand how I was feeling when I said these things at the hospital. Because although I had thought this way when you were gone, it all went away with everything you told me that day. How you had felt before we met, how you felt then. Why you asked me to take the fall in Sussex. I told you I would forgive you a bit everyday, and I meant it. But like I said, I did not have time just then to really think of all this. Not that day, of course. In that never-ending day, I was just desperate again after realizing you had been shot. But in those days at the hospital, with so much time to think… _Then_ I understood. Or, at the moment, so I thought.” He paused and looked at the distance. The sky was a particularly light tone of blue today, but I did not particularly care about that at the moment.

“Watson, enough with the suspense, please. What did you understand?” I said, and he looked back at me. “Don’t make that face, like I should have deduced already. You know these sorts of affairs aren’t my forte.”

“I understood just how much of a stupid teenage boy I had been.” He was smiling, but it was a sad smile. “I understood, completely, everything you had said that day, and everything it implied. I also understood what August had said in that email.” I flinched. “I said understood it then, it doesn’t mean that I agree.” He smiled briefly.  “What I mean is that it made me look back at everything with a new light. I finally saw who you were when we met, and why. Like a blindfold was stripped from my eyes, and still, all I saw was the darkness… that you had been in. And I felt so bad. I thought about what I had wanted from you then, and how it was so obvious that it was an impossible thing at the time, and I ought to have seen it. And I didn’t, all I saw was myself. Sure, you were kind of cruel to me at your parents’ estate, but that was all that I was going through then, some teenage drama. But you… You were going through so much. You were trying to come out of this cell you had been locked in all your life. And you were only trying, I think, because of me.” He searched my eyes, looking for confirmation.

I nodded. I didn’t say anything else. What could I say? I was astonished.

“And that would have been hard enough. But on top of that, there was what had happened the year before…” Dobson, he meant. Still I said nothing. “And still I was blind. I thought, at the time, that you could live up to all the expectations I’d had of you my whole life, while also being someone I could have a personal relationship with. I once wrote that I hadn’t wanted to be your boyfriend, that I’d wanted something far smaller and also much, much greater – and it was true, at the time. But that was before you first kissed me. From then on, with this possibility on the table, I think I wanted you be the immense myth I’d created while also being… well, with me. The truth is, at the time, you could do neither, and still I asked. It was simply unfair”.

He took a breath before continuing, and I took that opportunity to balance things out. However uncharacteristic of me that may be, I was starting to feel uncomfortable about how much of the responsibility for the whole affair he was taking to himself. So I called him on it.

“Unfair? Watson, I sort of understand the point you’re trying to make, and I agree with you that this whole process I was going through was difficult. But you couldn’t possibly understand it at the time, could you? You’re being unfair right now, to you, and I don’t care for it. See, however harder it was for me, I could see where you stood and what your motivations were. You, on the other hand, were just getting acquainted with the Holmes’ madness. You had no idea how deep the well really went. How deep down I was. I think I was trying to tell you, even before we ever went to Sussex, subtly, afraid I might scare you. I wished you to understand, and I was terrified that you would. I had already known what it felt like to have you think awful things of me, with that notebook…” He opened his mouth, but I carried on. “And still, it couldn’t possibly be enough for you to understand, just then. Consequently you didn’t, and simply acted accordingly. There wasn’t really another way for you to have acted, given the circumstances. For instance, the circumstance of you being a teenage boy with feelings for his best friend. Who, I must add, had just kissed you, of her own accord, _in your death bed_. I, however, could see from your point of view as well as mine, and still I did the things I did. And they were awful things, Jamie. Awful. You mentioned me being cruel at my parents’ estate, but it was nothing compared to--”

He didn’t let me finish.

“But you were trying, though, weren’t you?” He asked, with an anxious voice. “I agree it wasn’t very successful, but I know you were. That’t why you kissed me in the first place, wasn’t it? That’s what you said then, at least.” I looked at him, and it seemed like he genuinely wanted to know.

I thought for a moment.

“I think… Yes, I think that’s why. I think, in fact, that I had just discovered for the first time something –someone--worth trying for, in these matters.” He opened his mouth, but I responded before he spoke. “No, with August was different. I didn’t want to try, I just _wanted_. And I didn’t even know what I wanted. In summary, to your question, yes, I suppose.”

“Right, so you see. And you continued to try, but you were still too far down, and you were worried about the future. You were worried about _me_. And about you, too, as you should be! But then when you asked me if what we had then could be enough, because you weren’t sure about anything else – and how could you be?, I had _the nerve_ —“. His voice cracked.

I had rarely seen him so sad. It made me miserable, seeing this. I wanted to comfort him, somehow, but how? Are all relationships this complicated, I wondered? Where’s the use of the famous Holmesian wit in a situation like this?

“Jamie, you didn’t…” I tried, but he interrupted.

“No, let me. I had the nerve to say that it wouldn’t. Not in so many words, yes, but I didn’t need to. You understood it just as well. And it wasn’t even true, you know? That I wouldn’t want you either way. How could it be true? In what circumstances would I possibly prefer to be without you? And then, to justify it, I even said that we had never been just friends. Another lie. Of course we had. We had been friends, first and foremost. My wishes aside, I had never _dared_ actually letting myself go down that road until after you kissed me…” He seemed to have been talking a great deal of this to himself, and so he did not notice the effect these words had cause in me.

For I realized suddenly, and much to my dismay, that there were tears on my face.

“Charlotte, what—“

“You would?”

“What?”

“You would, then? Want it either way?” My voice sounded strange to my ears.

“Of course I would”, he said, softly, and put his hand over mine. “I should have said so, then. I was stupid.”

“But then… you still haven’t…in the hospital…” As if the tears weren’t enough, I was having trouble finishing my sentences. Hell, I was having trouble finishing my _thoughts_. I must give myself some credit, though. I had no doubt, now, that this was the longest, deepest conversation of the kind I had ever had. I was already exhausted. But I wanted to see it through. And I felt like the worst part was almost over.

“Right. The hospital conversation. I still haven’t completed that thought, have I? Boy, is this some long, serious stuff.” He gave a small laugh. I laughed back. “So…the more I thought about those things, the angrier I got with myself. Because, you see, you might not be the myth I created, but I knew you were something else, nonetheless. You were in a different league. You were there, fighting your battles and finally winning, and I ruined it all. Because I was stupid, and proud, I had put you on danger. I got you _shot_.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he didn’t let me. “And I ruined what you had achieved with your addiction. And so in that moment, I concluded that we were bad for each other. Because I couldn’t handle all you had, and you couldn’t handle all I wanted, and I was a stupid boy and could only drag you down and put you in danger again. And I mean, of course I know you would be in danger again, you’re Charlotte Holmes, but I thought that I would prevent you from getting out of it. I had once written that I would never be able to keep up with you, and I thought, at that moment, that I had never been more right…”

I snorted in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me, Jamie? You were the one who got us out of that Moriarty mess! I gave you the gun, right, but that shot? For a first shot? Oh, of course it was a first shot”, I added, impatiently, because he was about to ask how I knew. “Obviously you won’t be able to keep up with me in a way, because I have been trained for these things all my life – and look what that got me. But you… you have never had any training whatsoever, and still you survived all this time in the company of one Charlotte Holmes. Who had, must I add, pissed off some very angry Moriartys.” He laughed lightly. “I might have had a strong head start, but in terms of speed, I think you’re much more in my league than you think. Also, there will be plenty of time for training… if you want.”

It was a question. He smiled, pensative, but didn’t answer. So I asked a different one.

“In that moment”, I said.

“What?”

I suppose I was lacking some intonation in my questions.

“You said that ‘in that moment’, you concluded we were bad for each other. And before, you said in the hospital you had understood it all… or so you thought. So, you answered all the points I raised that made me suspicious about your, well, coolness, for lack of a better word, about everything. I understand why you thought the way you thought at the time. So I figure the real question is… do you still? How do you feel now?” This was it, I thought. What we had been dawning on to. I braced myself.

“Well”, he said. “For someone who said that just wanted to hear you, I sure ended up talking a lot. So why don’t you tell me, detective?”, he said, and grinned a little mischievously.

Oh, no. No, he wasn’t. 

“Watson. You cannot possibly be serious. Not about this.”

“Come on, Holmes. This is an easy one. I am still here, aren’t I?” He said, softly. He was smiling, and he took my hand that was still under his and clasped my fingers on his.

“So you don’t still think we are bad for each other?”, I asked. I would have never needed this sort of confirmation in other circumstances. But now, I needed all that I could get.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why? What made you change your mind?”

“Well, first I need to know about you. I’ve sure shared a lot of my thoughts today. What do _you_ think?” I could tell it was a real question this time. He wasn’t teasing. So I tried my best to give an honest answer.

“Honestly… I might say that I am not sure. Considering all the disastrous things that have happened since we met. But also… you know me, I was taught to look at the facts. And the way I see it is…however tortuous way we got here, the fact is I don’t think we’re worse because of it. I don’t think we’re worse people then when we met. I would be crazy to state that. On the contrary, I… I actually think I became a little better… and despite what you told me about your personal conflicts, I also believe you became better. Look at everything you just told me. You look so… mature now, Watson. You also are better. So I do have an answer. I don’t think we’re bad for each other. I think we are good together”.

He smiled more brightly then he had since we had sat on this bench.

“You talked before about training, and it seems like my personal Holmes has already taught me well, because those are my thoughts exactly.”

At that I was smiling, too. But still I was curious.

“So, to answer my question…? How did you change your mind?”

He laughed.

“You never forget anything, do you? Well, after all those dawning realizations, I looked back at when we met and concluded that when adding everything about you, with everything I had built about you in my mind, that combination was destined for disaster. One thing fed the other continuously, like an ever growing snowball that would eventually crush us. It was inevitable, and at the same time, required. It had to crush us, otherwise we would be stuck there forever. It was the only way out for us.”

“You are impossible with your metaphors today, Watson” I said, but softly. “What are you saying?”

“That we did get out.” I raised my eyebrow. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “Well, here’s another metaphor, since you like your chess: I am saying that we began playing with the match in the middle, and with the game we had, it was impossible for us to avoid some tremendous disaster. In some ways, I think it isn’t neither of our faults. But the important thing is that we finished that game, and now we get to start another, see? All I want to know is… whether you want to. And whether you’re ready for it. And what the rules will be. You call them, I promise.”

He looked me, expectantly. I didn’t have to think.

“I do want to. And… I do believe I am ready. No, I am sure of it, now, after everything you said. But I also… I need you to know that I cannot guarantee… that I will always be well. That I will always be sane. Although my faith in a good prospect has increased significantly since Berlin, I need you to know that. And I need to know that you are in agreement with that.”

“I am, Charlotte. I understand, and I told you I did not mean what I said even that day, much less now. I am ready for whatever comes, as long as I am facing it with you. It will always be worth it, for me. Your rules, I mean it. Honestly I… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The sky was already getting dark. He had soft eyes and a gigantic smile now, that I assume mirrored mine. I started to lean closer to him, but he interrupted me.

“Wait”, he said. “You said you also had some things you wanted to say. What was it?”

He also never forgot anything. Well, he asked for it.

“That August was right.”

“What?”

“That August was right, in that email. About me, breaking your heart. Like a glass figurine.”

His face was priceless. It felt good to have some control back, after all of this.

“But—what—“

“Was, Watson. Past tense. I can’t pretend that he wasn’t, then, or I would be forfeiting everything that happened after.”

“So he isn’t right anymore?”

“No. As I said, I won’t make any promises, and frankly although lacking experience, I understand that no one in a relationship can, really, make such a promise. But I will try, and that is enough to guarantee that he is now wrong.”

He relaxed again.

“Well, explain it to me, then.. how is it that a Moriarty – the best Moriarty, for that matter – managed to get something so wrong?”

“He didn’t account for a very important fact.”

“Which is?” He asked, his eyebrow raised.

I smiled.

“That you would have a glass figurine of your own”, I said.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he didn’t have time, for I had already captured it with mine.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this it it!  
> This conversation didn't turn out exactly how I thought it would. I thought it would be shorter and more... angry? More fighting, idk. But as I wrote, it seemed important that they touched on all these issues?  
> Also I realize maybe they (especially Jamie) sound more mature than they would be, at this point, but well, that's how it turned out. heh  
> I may return to these characters when I finish reading the last book. Writing in their voices is a blast, honestly.  
> I hope I made the content justice and that you enjoyed!


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